


Sock Garters, Maybe Murder, and the Upper Hand

by AddisonAddek



Series: Derek Shepherd and Mark Sloan [3]
Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Anal Sex, Asshole Derek, Bottom Derek, Dark Comedy, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Hatred, Insecure Mark, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sock Garter, Spit As Lube, Top Mark, drunk mark, scavenger hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25326310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddisonAddek/pseuds/AddisonAddek
Summary: Mark and Derek hate each other.Or rather, Derek still hates Mark and Mark has had it with his snotty attitude. So, he goes looking for a stick up his ass
Relationships: Derek Shepherd & Mark Sloan, Derek Shepherd/Mark Sloan
Series: Derek Shepherd and Mark Sloan [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776013
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	Sock Garters, Maybe Murder, and the Upper Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, bobbiejelly, for sending me that picture on tumblr that sparked this idea.  
> * Mature Content Below. Viewer Discretion Advised *

****Sock Garters, Maybe Murder, and the Upper Hand** **

* * *

It’s after dinner, and Mark Sloan is drunk and he’s had it with his best friend’s _(to Derek, he, himself, isn’t even worthy to be called his_ _‘friend’ anymore)_ snotty attitude towards him. He’s no longer apart of the upper echelon of the Derek’s best friend club — and to be fair, he has no idea how he got here or why he’s even here or why and how they’d been able to have dinner together without Derek trying to murder him.

_Whatever. It’s not like he needs Derek. It’s not like he’s his only family (only, he is). He’ll just start his own best friend club._

Rolling his eyes — sure, he fucked Derek’s _now_ ex-wife plenty a times _(but that time was the one and only time)_ and he gets it, absolutely, he should be hated, but come on now, that was like over two years ago and he’s shacking up that — _what’s her name_ — blonde intern mistress person ... he can’t remember what she’s called.

At some point, Derek has to get over it sooner or later. But, of course, the sooner the better. It’s borderline silly now.

Preposterous, even.

Petulant.

See, he knows words; he knows his vocabularies. He knows English.

Because Derek got what he wanted — a midlife crisis girlfriend and Addison far far away from Seattle. Granted, she’s in LA and that’s — _what?_ _A two-hour drive?_

It’s not so easy for Derek to get rid of him, though. He couldn’t even when they were children — _what makes him think he could now?_

“You know what’s your problem, Derek?” he slurs, waving his dessert spoon at the other man _(spoon licked clean of mint-chocolate ice cream, his favourite)_.

“Do tell, Mark. Please,” Derek deadpans, looking somewhat bored at him, and who also seems suspiciously sober, given the amount of malt whiskey they’ve both consumed. Then again, since coming to this walking pneumonia of a city, his tolerance has been embarrassingly abysmal.

“You’ve got a stick up your ass.” Mark nods wisely. “So proper. So formal. This Great God of Neurosurgery. All the time, never a hair out of place. Everyone’s charmed by you and your dreamy smile, but it’s true. You’ve got a stick so far up your ass that it’ll never be found. You’re —” he slurs, “You’re — you’re _McDouchbag_.”

“You’re welcome to look for it, though,” Derek says mildly, pouring Mark another two fingers of Macallan.

“Who, me? Thank you,” scoffing, he scoffs, “but no thank you. I don’t want to go peering up your ass.” he accepts the scotch and takes a large gulp. “I’d much rather fuck you in it.”

As soon as the words he’s just said hit Mark’s own ears, he freezes in almost cartoon-like surprise.

_Damn._

“Well,” Derek says, pausing as he cocks his head to the side. “That’s quite the Freudian slip.”

There are words Mark could say to deny what he had just basically admitted. There are ways out of this social awkwardness with grace and poise. Unfortunately though, Mark can’t think of any of them. And the violent blush racing up his face betrays the fact that he may have just, unwittingly and drunkenly, spoken the truth.

Derek Shepherd stands up and moves smoothly across the dining area in his stupidly tiny trailer and towards him. For a confused and terrifying moment, Mark is certain that the other man, his professional colleague, and used to be bestie, is going to pick up a kitchen knife and skewer him through the neck.

And to think, there are plenty of places here in the woods where Derek could get rid of his body. He could throw him off the cliff. Or the classic, bury him in a shallow grave. Maybe burn down his body but — _nah_ , that involves a lot science and precision _(a body disintegrates to the bone at temperatures between 1400-1800 degrees Fahrenheit for three hours)_ and would have gotten a lot of unwanted attention.

But he doesn’t, try to kill him, that is. _Of course._ Ever the perfect fucking gentleman.

Derek merely pauses at the sideboard, opens a small drawer, and takes something from it. Something that he then places on the table in front of him.

To Mark’s astonishment — and instant, almost painful arousal — it is a condom.

“I don’t want any dishes to get knocked off the table. These are all I have left.” Derek says. “Lets go to the living room?”

_Living room?_

And he does. And it’s almost laughable if he isn’t so drunk because it took Derek two strides to get to the _‘living room’._ And Mark is still sitting at the table, gobsmacked, in utter disbelief that — _is Derek really serious?_

For a moment, Mark can’t follow him. Disbelief and his burgeoning erection stops him from standing up from his chair. But then he finally gets up, grabs the table for support _(whoops, the booze)_ , finds his footing, picks up the condom from where Derek had left it and goes into the _‘living room’_.

Derek is standing with his back to him, in front of a sturdy Eames chair. He doesn’t look over his shoulder to see if the other man has followed him; he merely unfastens his belt, pushes down his trousers and boxers and steps elegantly out of them. Shoes and socks still on. Mark notices with curiosity and more than a little sexual and sartorial excitement that Derek is wearing _sock garters_.

And it’s honestly the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life. A garter belt on a woman is one thing but garters on Derek — _mhm_ , he swallows hard, licking his lips as he’s tenting in his pants now at the sight of the arches of Derek’s calves and naked legs accentuating by his sheer socks and garters.

Nonchalantly, Derek reaches behind himself and folds his shirt and the bottom of his jacket out of the way to expose the pale, muscular cheeks of his ass.

He then bends over the chair, legs spread apart.

“Be my guest,” Derek says, “A little after dinner treat.”

He would never admit it, but it has been quite a long time for Mark — with a man, to be clear. He hasn’t had an offer like this since medical school. And even then, it was a fellow first-year student with a not as impressive buttocks, whereas Derek Shepherd is …

“Fuck,” Mark says, meaning more accurately, _I’m_ _fucked_ , but he shucks off his own shoes and pants and underwear and _garterless_ socks, and his jacket and tie and shirt for good measure, and tears open the condom with trembling hands.

“Do you — do you have any lube?” Mark manages.

“Surely you have a little spit to spare,” Derek says, voice slightly muffled by the fact that he’s speaking into the back of the Eames chair, which is so ugly, he can see why Addison had shipped it all the way here from the brownstone.

It was Derek’s favourite chair.

Mark’s knees are weak. He groans and drops to his knees and buries his face in Derek’s ass.

He has plenty of spit to spare. His mouth is watering. He tongues Derek’s asshole and it tastes delicious, far more delicious than an asshole should ever taste, probably because the man is an egotistical asshole or something equally stuck up. It’s clean and sweet, with a undertone of the minty dessert he had just had — he’s so drunk his tastebuds are all jacked up. But Mark doesn’t care about that medical emergency right now. He is trembling, ridiculously eager, cock leaking inside the condom, so he doesn’t linger. He pushes saliva into Derek’s muscular hole with his tongue, spits and spreads, and then stands up and takes his own cock in his hand.

From this angle he can’t see whether Derek is aroused or not. He doesn’t much care, frankly; he wants to fuck, wants it with a drunken single-mindedness that means he’s ruled by the desires of his dick, and his dick wants to push right into that hot, wet hole.

So he does. He positions himself and pushes in. His cock slips in so easily it almost feels like an insult. But it feels so good; hot and tight, framed by those muscular buttocks.

Mark moans loudly with the pleasure of it, and thrusts in right to the hilt. Derek doesn’t so much as grunt.

Eagerness has always been one of Mark’s faults; eagerness and ambition. He wants what he wants. Derek Shepherd has such a spotless reputation. And this is wonderful, so wonderful, fucking this highly-regarded neurosurgeon, this surgeon with his _‘two million dollars a year hands’_ , who quite often looks as though he’s got a stick up his ass. Fucking him right up the ass. Pounding him hard, degrading him, showing him who has the upper hand.

He considers slapping Derek on one perfect butt cheek. But he doesn’t quite dare.

Because Derek isn’t groaning or sweating or heaving, or begging him to go faster or slower or to have mercy. He’s just … taking it. Holding on lightly to the sturdy chair, barely moving with Mark’s thrusts.

 _Stoic_.

Almost … superior.

Mark can’t see his face, only the back of his head. And as he fucks, faster now because he’s drunk, because it feels so good, because he’s losing control, a small part of Mark’s mind wonders what expression is on Derek Shepherd’s face.

As he thrusts harder, panting and moaning and grunting like a rutting animal, unable to contain himself, knowing he’s about to come even though it hasn’t been long, Mark is suddenly absolutely certain that Derek is looking smug.

Then he comes with a guttural yell, overbalances on his bad leg _(that ended his dreams of becoming a professional in lacrosse)_ , and has to grab Derek’s ass to keep from falling over.

“Are you all right, Mark?” Derek asks, the first noise he has made since suggesting that Mark rim him.

“Yeah, I —” He steadies himself and lets go of Derek. He’s out of breath, sweating. His rapidly-softening cock pops out of Derek with a pathetic wet sound.

He’s suddenly self-conscious, which is odd because he’s far more ripped than Derek. He pulls off the condom and wonders how he can dispose of it at the same time as putting his clothes back on so Derek won’t see him naked when he turns around.

But Derek doesn’t turn around. He appears not to have moved at all.

“Well,” Derek says. “That was interesting, wasn’t it?”

Mark reaches for his shirt and his boxers. “Derek … I think … I think it’s best if we don’t mention this again.”

“Did you find a stick while you were up there? Or perhaps you didn’t go far enough?”

Mark is buttoning his shirt, pulling on his pants, shoving his feet in his shoes. He’s trying to understand the exact moment when Derek Shepherd became the one with all the control in this little situation, when Derek turned the power dynamics on their heads.

It’s a sickening realisation to understand that the dynamics were never turned on their heads. Derek Shepherd had the power all along.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Mark asks.

Derek straightens, then. He flips his shirt and jacket down to cover himself, and he turns around. Even without his trousers, he hasn’t a curl out of place.

_That curly haired bastard._

“I called you a cab,” he tells Mark. “It should be waiting outside. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

Mark is in such a fluster to put on the rest of his clothes and escape that it’s only when he’s in front of his apartment and he reaches in his pocket for his wallet to pay the cab driver, that he finds the used and leaking condom stuffed into his pocket.

* * *

_The picture that inspired this little story._

  


_Derek’s potential sock garters and claves that turned Mark on._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this debauchery. ;)


End file.
